This Floating Life Is Like a Dream; There Will Come an Awakening

In the bustling world of the imperial capital, nearly twenty years have slipped by in a flash. Although I have spent much of my time reading in the National Library, I have also come into contact with the most elite strata of Chinese politics, business, medicine, religion, and academia. In this noise-filled world, my heart has gradually grown quiet.

Up to now, my life can be roughly divided into two halves. The first eighteen years were in my native Huanggang, Hubei, where I studied hard to escape the farming life; in my spare time I took part in the family's various labors, doing my part to help solve our financial problems. The last nineteen years have been in the capital, through changing winds and clouds. While I myself have endured many hardships, I have also witnessed the life trials of friends from all walks of life in this noisy world.

Among my old acquaintances, some who were once powerful are now prisoners; some who were once prominent are now destitute; and some who were once poor and down-and-out now drive luxury cars and live in mansions, at the height of splendor. This rich life is exactly like a living copy of The Scholars (Rulin Waishi), letting me taste to the full the sweet and sour of life.

After Wu Jingzi finished writing The Scholars, he composed a ci poem: "I remember back then, when I loved the Qinhuai banks and occasionally left my hometown. Beyond the Meigen foundry, I howled and sang a few times; in the Apricot Blossom Village, I wandered a few times. The wind died in the tall parasol trees, insects chirped in the small pavilions, and I still measured myself against the men of the day. Now it is all over! I have sloughed off my robes like a cicada, and washed my feet in the Canglang waters. Idly, I raise a cup of sunset glow and call a few new friends to get drunk together. A hundred years pass easily; why must one grieve? The affairs of a thousand years are great and hard to settle. The mists and skies of Jiangzuo, the elders of Huainan—writing them into these unfinished pages always breaks the heart! From now on, beside the medicine furnace and the sutras, I will reverently attend the Empty King myself."

This poem expresses exactly my present frame of mind. From childhood I had lofty ambitions; when I came to Beijing in my youth, I was full of warm blood and heroic feeling, hoping to change the future of the Chinese nation. With my sweeping, boundless essays I expressed my radical political ideas, and this boiling spirit did indeed move many readers; there were those who came to Beijing from all corners of the country hoping to join me in the great cause of national reform. I also once entered the business world, and relying on my own modest strengths ran my ventures smoothly; though not fabulously wealthy, my life was quite pleasant. After my late mother fell ill, the desire to "measure myself against the men of the day" died away, and I picked up the inherited family practice of medicine and the dream of my youth, returning to the medical profession and settling in the apricot grove, quietly tilling the soil. Ten years of accumulation have gradually made my name known, allowing me to see all kinds of good and evil, right and wrong, within the apricot grove.

From youth onward I have constantly been burdened by fame, and I have always tried to escape the troubles brought by empty reputation. Whenever I became known in a place or a field, I would withdraw at the height of my success to preserve my inner peace. But from my middle-school days until now, I have never truly escaped the troubles of empty fame. After long tempering, my heart has grown calm; toward everything I now hold the attitude of "since it has come, be at ease with it." I respond to change with the unchanging, truly being myself, sincerely treating others, neither forcing nor craving connections, and not disturbed by external circumstances. My heart is like the water in an ancient well, with no more ripples.

The more people and affairs I have seen, the more weary I grow of the mortal world. This floating life, like a dream, will eventually have a time of thorough awakening. The ancients said: if one cannot be a good minister, then be a good physician. There are three realms of the physician: first, treating the diseases of the body; second, treating body and mind together; third, treating the diseases of the age. To reach these three realms, one must be widely read and deeply versed in the ways of the world. Though I am slow-witted, I too wish to follow the former worthies, taking these three realms as my aim and indefatigably exploring the way of medicine. Content in poverty and delighting in the Way, patiently pursuing scholarship, I will no longer enter this restless, dusty world to waste my time.

In life, only death is unavoidable. Having reached middle age, one knows the value of time and the terror of desire. Those who have suffered great falls in the world are without exception people who let their hearts run wild, sinking into the sea of suffering of greed, luxury, and lust, unable to extricate themselves. I am no sage born with knowledge, but after enduring the vicissitudes of the world I have roughly come to understand many truths of life, and have gradually settled down—either in my study or in the mountains and fields—studying medicine and gathering herbs, reading and reflecting, comprehending life, and no longer seeking trouble for myself in worldly life.

Confucius's disciple Yan Hui, with a single basket of rice and a single gourd of water, was already content, spending all day immersed in the joy of "learning and from time to time practicing what one has learned," utterly unaware that the world contains the word "sorrow." I am slow and clumsy; only nearing fifty could I finally let go of everything of the world and enter such a lucid realm, forgetting both self and things, happy to the point of forgetting sorrow and forgetting the passing years, unaware that old age is drawing near. Fortunately, now I am at last thoroughly liberated, having returned to an original heart, and am following the way of medicine according to conditions.

"If the Way is learned in the morning, one may die in the evening without regret." Whether I achieve anything hereafter is Heaven's will. Having transcended life and death in spirit and cut off vexation, this life holds no further regret.